Many Predictions, Nostradamus-Style

I was reading some of the Nostradamus texts and decided to play around with his format and do a whole mess o' predictions. Interpretations are
welcomed--though I must warn you, these aren't about current events at all, but rather veiled references to the sinister machinations going on at my
local bingo hall!

1.
Sitting in the midst of a Sickness,
Mind Healing after the poison of healing
Powerless slacker willow witness
Delirious brain God is stealing...

2.
First will be the fallen gadfly,
Seeing his picture in a magazine
Was more than I could stand and I began to cry
T’was such sudden insight that first struck my brain

3.
But cheer up anyway the war seemed won
(Though not the War)
As the Dead Presidents’ seeming Son
Stepped up to the bar

4.
I wanted so much a New Beginning,
And the once-weary republic donned Solarian garments
In tribute to the war we were winning
(As Neo silently counted his armaments)

5.
But the key lay in the Second, not the First;
I was bid to pay attention to the Choice.
A delightful jar, canoptic and cursed,
History is repeated with a multilevel seraphic voice

6.
And in the jar lay our hopes and Fears
Trotted out like a riderless horse;
Entrenched in the desert for many Years,
Our young Future amassed in a National Force

7.
Am I getting too ahead of me?
So much yahooing along the way;
Did I mention all the whistles and money
Tiny Data poised to save the day?

8.
Some cheap thrills also so no ennui
Kiddies, I have a thriller of a tale--
He lost and his brain went kablooey
He grabbed his children and set sail

9.
Flowers on the lawn,
Live big die big.
Dredging the bed at dawn,
The Grand Family’s lavish monument dig.

10.
The storm almost picked up my barn,
But I stood strong upon my steps like Versace
Live to tell, but you know the old yarn,
“At least better off than England and Liberace.”

11.
So I booked my ticket today,
Though I was afraid of Flying,
Rather see the Old Treasures on display
In native soil, not in museums dying

12.
And who controls the Museums pray tell?
No one, but One;
And as the Pieces fall to Hell,
We carry the currency of the Sun

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